Keys to the Kingdom
by argonis
Summary: Set in the years before the graphic novel "Kingdom Come." As a final test before taking over his grandfather’s empire, Ibn al Xu’ffasch, the Son of the Bat, develops a new version of his father’s Protocols to take down the Justice League. (BMWW)
1. Prologue: What Comes At Night

**Summary**: Set in the years before the graphic novel "Kingdom Come." As a final test before taking over his grandfather's empire, Ibn al Xu'ffasch, the Son of the Bat, develops a new version of his father's Protocols to take down the Justice League. Meanwhile, an intra-League romance is rekindled, but will that relationship distract Batman from the nefarious plans of someone who is stronger, smarter, and better than himself? (BM/WW)

**Author's note**: _Kingdom Come_ is an amazing graphic novel by Mark Waid and Alex Ross, which details a vision of the future where metahumans are no longer the protectors of humanity.

This will be my attempt to explain what takes place between now and _Kingdom Come_—how and why the JLA goes from world saviors to disgraced retirees. This tale was inspired by two undercurrents in the comic, stories which were hinted at but never told: Ibn (son of the Bat) versus his father, and the tension between Batman and Wonder Woman (shippers rejoice).

There may be a few continuity issues due to changes in the DC universe since _Kingdom Come_ was written, but I will make every attempt to keep things plausible.

I hope you enjoy.

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"_Know your enemy, know yourself: a hundred battles, a hundred won." -Sun Tzu_

_He had watched the tapes of the Batman over and over again, memorized them, could instantly recall the subtle shifts in balance and posture that accompanied each attack routine. _

"_Here, you see," Lady Shiva would say, "His left foot. You see?" _

_He would peer at the screen, but perfect eyesight was no help in determining what it was she wanted him to find. _

"_Bun dan ((idiot))," she would say when he found no answer, cuffing him on the head or neck. She would not raise her voice nor give any hint of her strike; one moment she would be pointing at the screen and the next he was recoiling in pain. _

_A cuff from Shiva could break concrete, and it hurt, but he had learned long ago to suffer in silence. The premier member of the League of Assassins took her pride seriously. _

"_His left foot," she would say in that same, almost bored, tone. "He shifts from heel to toe before he kicks." She would rewind the tape and play it, over and over again, until suddenly everything would fall into place and he could see it, recognize that subtle change in balance which meant the figure was about to snap his right leg out in a roundhouse kick. _

_The shift was miniscule, recognizable by perhaps a dozen people in the world...and now by him. Once he saw it, it was burned into his mind for good. Left-heel-to-toe-means-right-roundhouse-kick. _

_They would move on to the next tape. _

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Prologue: What Comes at Night

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At night the memories came.

They were never pleasant. Sometimes the dreams would force him awake, thrashing and soaked in sweat. Other nights he would merely awake chilled to the bone, shivering uncontrollably despite the warm desert air.

Tonight, he watched as the daggers flew toward him.

His eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to stop hyperventilating. Be calm. Easy breaths. Breathing too hard meant too much movement which meant the knives would hit—

That train of thought was cut off with the first _thud_ of a sharpened blade. It sank hilt-deep into the wooden platform. He was bound against the table while several of Grandfather's warriors hurled their weapons at him. Grandfather himself stood nearby, an imposing figure with arms crossed and emerald cloak fluttering in the night breeze.

The next knife landed less than an inch from his neck, shaving off a lock of hair. He winced and opened an eye to see where it had hit, but instantly regretted doing so: another dozen knives were flying toward him. His eyes slammed shut.

The wood reverberated with each thud. _Don't look at them-- can't see them--won't feel them--don't look at them—don't look at them—don't—_

Cold steel kissed his cheek as a dagger buried itself next to his face. He shuddered and the twitch of his head made the next knife slice into his ear. Unable to help himself, he cried out.

A wizened but incredibly strong hand seized his arm and jerked him away from the platform.

"Silence!" hissed Ra's Al Ghul.

Terror pounded at his heart. "Re--release me, grandfather--please--! I'm sorry I broke my vow of silence! Give me another chance! I—"

His breath cut off as his body was twisted to face his grandfather's blackened, demonic eyes. He couldn't hold back a whimper at that terrifying stare.

"You are the product of a most perfect union," Ra's snarled. "Your father was the western world's Dark Knight; your mother, my daughter and finest soldier. As their only son, you are the heir to my empire, but that is a bequeathment I swear I shall neverallow you...until such time as your courage measures a _tenth_ of theirs."

And then the dreaded words: "Bury his fear."

"NO! _PLEASE_!" he screamed, as he was hurled into the pit.

He staggered up, sobbing, as the men loomed above him. The first shower of dirt hit him on his exposed back.

"Please..." he begged. He raised a pitiful arm to protect himself.

The warriors were merciless, and he tasted his first mouthful of earth as they began filling the hole. Their shovels flashed in the moonlight, light which slowly but inexorably disappeared as the pit was filled in and he was buried alive.

Darkness threatened from all directions as the weight above him grew heavier. His mouth was filled with the bitter mix of blood and sweat and soil. His pounding heart threatened to burst from his chest.

It was deathly quiet. Then something in his mind snapped and he screamed, screamed endlessly into the ground, screamed and filled his mouth with more dirt but he didn't care, screamed because he was suffocating but he didn't care he was buried alive he was going to die he--

--sat up with a start, gasping.

Something moved by his side. Reflexively, his fist cocked and prepared to drive into its target.

"What is it?" came a woman's murmur. The familiar voice, though clouded with sleep and deceptively gentle, brought him to his senses.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and stared down at his body. It was draped with a bedsheet made of the finest silk and the color of ivory. Not the blackness of the pit. He was in his own bed. Safe. Not in the pit.

"Little bat?" the voice asked sleepily.

He touched her hair to convince himself that he was truly awake. "Nothing. A bad dream." His fingers brushed against her jaw. "I apologize for waking you."

"Mmm. Go back to sleep." A few moments later, her even breathing indicated that she had taken her own advice.

He remained seated, pulling his knees into his chest and hunching over them. If he closed his eyes again he would be back in the pit, suffocating under the earth. If he closed his eyes he would be buried again.

At night the memories came, and with them came fear.

So he stayed as he was and stared into the darkness...

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"Kill him," Ra's said

Ibn stared wide eyed at the kneeling figure. The slave had been blindfolded but obviously heard Grandfather's words, as he began shaking and muttering under his breath.

"To rule effectively, you must not fear death. Neither to receive it, nor to deal it. The Lazarus Pits will solve the first problem, but the second can be conquered only through experience." Ra's gestured to the dagger on the table. "Kill him."

He didn't move.

"Ibn," Grandfather's voice grew dangerous. "If you are afraid, you will be buried."

His mouth grew dry and his hand shook as he reached for the dagger. The ceremonial hilt was carved into the likeness of a serpent, with twin rubies set into its eyes. The blade was heavy in his small hands.

"Now, plunge the knife into his heart." Ra's voice was cold.

The blindfolded victim began to wail.

"Silence!" Ra's ordered. Ubu, ever present at his master's side, stomped forward and kicked the kneeling man in the chest. The slave gave a strangled cry and toppled over.

The dagger slipped from trembling fingers and clattered to the ground. He froze, heard the beginnings of a snarl from behind him--

"Bury him—"

"NO!" he screamed. He seized the dagger and lunged.

He did not remember striking, did not remember the first hot splash against his face, did not remember the feel of flesh and muscle yielding to steel and might.

When his vision cleared, he saw nothing but red. His hands shook at the realization that the warmth drenching his body was blood.

"Control yourself!" Ra's snapped. He realized that he was still screaming.

Slowly, painfully, gasping and retching, he managed to stop. His hands were still slick with red, and he knew that the blood would never come off, that it would cling to him forever...

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He started awake, then closed his eyes and forced his panicked breathing to slow. He was still sitting on the bed.

"Why these dreams again?" he muttered angrily, once he had regained a semblance of calm.

He rose and made his way to the bathroom. Once inside, he bent over the sink and splashed water on his face, then took a deep, shuddering breath.

He looked up and saw himself in the mirror. A young, handsome face on a muscled frame stared back. Aside from the scars, his body was honed well beyond perfection—Grandfather had seen to that. But his mind...

The mirror did not show the depths to which his mind had been plunged.

A hint of red caught the edge of his vision. His eyes widened as he saw the splash of blood on his forearm, where the brown skin was stained crimson. He turned the water up the highest it would go and began scrubbing furiously.

He had been at it for ten minutes when he felt a presence behind him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He stopped his desperate cleaning and stared at his hands. There was nothing on them.

"I—nothing, I just woke—"

"Do not lie, little bat." Her voice was amused.

He stared into the sink. "The dreams," he admitted.

A hand ran down his tense back, another his chest. They were gentle, a surprising contrast to their usual strength. "Dreams are of little consequence in the waking world. Come back to bed."

Head still bowed, he didn't move. "They are not just dreams. They are memories."

She made a dismissive noise in her throat. "Memories come from the past. What you have now is the present, and the future. The past cannot harm you. You are too strong for it."

He shook his head. "I am not ready for this."

Her hands kneaded his shoulders, working to unlock the granite in his muscles. "You are ready for anything, little bat. After all, I am the one who trained you. You might question your own abilities, but you will never question mine. Yes?"

He admitted to himself that it was true.

"Now, come back to bed." She turned and sauntered off.

He sighed, shut off the water, and obediently followed her out of the room.

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At night the memories came.

"_I love you...as a lifelong friend, a confidant, and ally, but I'm not willing to risk that to see if there's more. Are you?" _

The words ran through his mind again and again. He fired a jumpline at the overhanging ledge. A faint _clank _and sudden loss of tension told him the hooks were firmly in place. He stepped off the high-rise and plummeted twenty stories through the air as the cable lengthened. The line reached its full extension and began to retract, swinging him onto the next building.

As the Batman he had performed these actions a thousand times, but tonight his limbs were heavier than usual. Quiet nights were the worst—slow and plodding, with no action to lose himself in and only his thoughts to keep him company.

"_Are you?" _she had asked him. Instead of responding, he had flashed a foolish grin and said nothing. Idiot.

Of course, what could he have said? She had turned him down, and what they had together—whatever they had had together—was no more. Couldn't be any more. She had made that decision and he had been afraid to challenge it.

Was he, then, destined to be alone?

He grimaced from his perch alongside a stone gargoyle. Such thoughts were distracting from the patrol. He fired another jumpline and swung off the roof, determined to stop recalling what had happened.

That resolve lasted until he reached the next building.

"You really want to know?" she had asked, referring to her vision of them in J'onn's transconsciousness articulator. She had entered the Martian's machine to confront her subconscious about a possible relationship, and emerged to greet him with those newfound visions. "It was terrible." She had smiled.

Her eyes had been twinkling.

He could not help it: she was an Amazon princess and a goddess, beautiful and stubborn, graceful and deadly, as bright and truthful as he was dark and secretive. How could he help from falling for her? And how could he blame her for rejecting him?

At night the memories came, and with them came regret.

But he took solace in a single thought, as he continued his trek through the darkness of the city. It was an image hidden deep in the recesses of his heart, but one that he would never forget.

Her eyes had been twinkling...


	2. Chapter One: The Strongest

_His leg shot out and the edge of his foot connected solidly with her throat—except that she was no longer there. He spun around to see her lunging at him with incredible speed. _

_He melted back in the face of that charge, parrying wildly and twisting his body to avoid her blows. He took advantage of a brief pause in her attacks to launch his own offensive, and his foot lashed out in a series of kicks that would shatter her ribs, jaw, and skull. _

_She deflected each fierce blow with a single hand, her arm moving so fast that he could see little more than a blur of white fabric. Her fingers suddenly snapped closed around his ankle, freezing his kick in mid-air. _

_Then his vision exploded. Before he realized what had happened, there was a sharp pain in his stomach and he doubled over. She had hit him in such rapid succession that he had not even seen the blows coming. His legs were cut out from beneath him and he crashed heavily to the floor. _

_She loomed over him. His eyes widened as he recognized the curl of her fingers—the Leopard Blow, an instant death technique. He twisted his head aside just in time. A fraction of a second later her hand slammed through the tatami mat and into the ground below. _

_They stared at each other. Then she pulled her hand out of the splintered mat and casually tossed a clump of grass and dirt next to his head. _

"_You neglect your defense when attacking," she chided. "Your reflexes are good, but you aren't fast enough to do that. Very few are. Luckily," and here her voice grew amused, "your reaction time becomes positively superhuman when your life is on the line." _

"_Grandfather pays you to train me, not try to kill me," he snapped. _

_She laughed, an unfamiliar action that softened the harsh lines of her face. "Sometimes, little bat, it is the same thing." _

_Still smirking, she offered a hand to help him up. He took it grudgingly and brushed the dirt from his hair, then settled back into a crouch and waited for her next attack. _

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Chapter 1

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There are no nightmares during the day.

Bolstered by that thought, Ibn al Xu'ffasch, son of the Bat and grandson of Ra's al Ghul, gathered his courage and turned to address the men seated across from him.

They were in the deepest recesses of Khazakstan, secure in an underground bunker built without knowledge of the country's government, or indeed of any government in the world. The construction had been financed through several dummy corporations, and while the bunker could withstand the impact of a nuclear missile on the surface above, it was hidden from prying satellites by a complex lattice of camouflaged earthworks.

His voice was calm when he began speaking. "You are gathered here today because you have served my grandfather with great distinction. Serve me equally well, and your reward will be beyond imagination."

His gaze traveled across their faces and noted that there was no lack of brilliance in the room. Two of the men were biochemists renown and reviled for their work on the Clench, a deadly virus released in Gotham City some years ago. Another was an operative who had spent eleven years in a Pentagon think tank, part of a group so secret that it had no name, before being activated by the Demon's Head and absconding with the U.S. military's latest weapons designs. Yet another was a financial wizard who been had assigned sixty million of the Demon's money and turned it into four and a half billion dollars, thanks to an intimate knowledge of financial markets as well as the ability—and the will—to be as ruthless as it took to succeed.

The list went on. The specifics didn't matter; they were brilliant and they were his. He had spent days planning this speech, how to address them and how to win them. How to begin his work.

"The Demon's Head has decided to turn the operation of his empire over into my hands. But first he has given me a task. It is a challenge that has been put forth and attempted by many before us, but never successfully met."

He paused. They were studying him intently.

"Years ago," he said, "my father, the Batman, developed a series of protocols to disable the Justice League if they were to ever go rogue. As you know, the Demon obtained those plans and used them to temporarily neutralize the entire League. He failed, ultimately, because he underestimated the extent of their strength—both their individual powers and the strength of the bonds between them."

His finger touched a button on the computer console before him, and a plasma screen on the wall came to life.

"I will not make that same mistake."

A seemingly endless list of files scrolled across the screen. Familiar names leapt out at them: Superman. Wonder Woman. Green Lantern.

A murmur went through the room. "The Bat's protocols," someone muttered. Plans intended to neutralize every member of the Justice League and a majority of the superhero population, created by one of their own.

"Yes," he said. "They will be the keys to my kingdom."

The door cracked open and a woman slipped in. She wore plain clothing and her long black hair was coifed in an ponytail, but she exuded an aura of competence and danger that belied her casual look. His eyes flicked to her. She inclined her head at him, then strode to the table and sat down. The men gave her a wide berth and careful nods.

After all, one showed respect to Lady Shiva.

Ibn gestured to the screen behind him. "I have taken these files and begun developing a new set of protocols, without their old limitations. The Batman's measures were non-lethal and temporary; mine are not. It will be a difficult task, but the League can be neutralized. And when they are out of the way, we will strike. We will play our hand and we will succeed. The might of Ra's al Ghul will extend across the globe. But to this end I will need your knowledge, your abilities, and your expertise. I asked for the best of the Demon's empire, then selected the finest from that list and chose them to sit before me. You are here now, and my plans will be put into motion once you promise me your loyalty."

He could see them mulling over his words. One by one they nodded at him. One by one he met their eyes and saw the unswerving faith in them, saw the culmination of so many years of planning begin to bloom. He liked what he saw.

"Do you swear your loyalty?" he asked.

"To Ibn al Xu'ffasch!" Their voices spoke as one. Shiva said nothing, but there was a faint smile on her lips.

He nodded; to his surprise, he found that his legs were trembling. He sank into the chair and resisted an urge to wipe his brow.

"Then we will begin." The files had finally stopped scrolling, and with a few keystrokes a picture of the Justice League filled the screen. Seven proud and noble figures stared defiantly at the men and women gathered there to bring them down.

"You have all reviewed the file regarding the Demon's attempt against the League. You saw the cause of its failure, a chain reaction beginning with one weakness in the protocols that led to another and then more. And therein lies the problem. This group," he gestured at the screen behind him, "consists of the strongest beings on the planet, perhaps even in the universe. To defeat all of them simultaneously, even given our considerable resources, is impossible. They are too powerful, too cohesive, too much of a _team _to take down as a whole.

He watched them nod. They were some of the most brilliant minds in the world, hand-picked by the Demon's Head to run his sprawling empire. There were no fools in the room and they recognized the truth in his words.

He continued. "So, instead of half-effective methods to neutralize each member of the League, we will concentrate on one. We will attack him relentlessly, endlessly, through all possible channels and in all possible ways. We will uncover and exploit his every weakness. We will keep the others at bay and render them unable to assist their comrade. And we will tear him down."

There was a moment of silence. "Who?" ventured one of the biochemists.

Ibn tapped a button on the console. The screen behind him blinked and the League was replaced with the image of a single, powerfully built man. The room fell silent as they recognized the strong, broad jaw and the spit curl that hung over his forehead. The man was dressed in red and blue.

"The strongest of them," Ibn said.

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Superman blinked.

The truck that was currently hurtling toward him weighed at least sixty tons. His mind raced through possible options. Heat vision could set off an explosion. Artic breath would not slow it down fast enough. And it was too late to evacuate the people behind him that would be in danger if he moved aside.

So he braced himself for the impact. Alien sinews powered by the sun tightened as he turned his shoulder to face the oncoming vehicle.

The truck hit him and crumpled; the cab flew off in one direction and the body another. He took a step back, absorbing the momentum from the collision, then strode forward as if nothing had happened. Bystanders gawked a safe distance from the wreckage.

With a gentle push, his body rose from the ground. He hovered for a moment, then pinpointed and raced toward the direction of the truck's launch.

Blue eyes capable of firing beams of intense heat narrowed as he surveyed the scene. Two figures were battling on a busy intersection as cars careened around them with blaring horns. The figures didn't seem to notice the traffic, even when a car screeched, went into a tailspin, and slammed right into one of them, a hulking, long haired figure covered in black body paint. The figure didn't seem to be bothered by the collision, just flung out an arm and hurled the car into the air.

Superman was there before the vehicle could crash into a storefront. With barely an effort he peeled apart the car roof, then reached in and gently extricated a sobbing woman and her child.

"It's okay. I've got you," he said.

The terrified woman clawed at his neck. "My baby!"

"I've got him, too, ma'am," he said, cradling the wailing infant. He smiled but the woman didn't seem to notice; the baby only cried louder. With a shrug, he deposited woman, child, and car a safe distance away from the commotion, then covered that distance with a single leap.

"Enough," he said to the long haired figure, who was currently dodging laser beams being fired by the other meta in the fracas. The number 666 was tattooed on the man's chest, in the same black paint that covered most of his body.

The figure snarled something at him—in German, he noted—and cocked a fist. Superman rolled his eyes for dramatic effect, took the blow—

--and went flying.

The impact had the force of an earthquake. When the dust cleared he found himself lying in a pile of shattered concrete slabs and steel girders. He rose with a grimace, shook off the dirt, and flew back into the thick of things.

He tackled 666 head on and took the other meta off his feet. They hit the ground together, landing in a convenient pile on top of the laser-firing figure and crushing the offending weapons.

Superman regained his balance first. He seized 666 by the shoulder and struck, hard enough to shatter a concrete wall. 666 just snarled and returned the blow.

This time, Superman was ready. He raised an arm to parry the attack, then hit 666 again, with enough force to break through steel.

666 remained standing. They traded several more punches, increasing the power behind each successive hit, but neither man seemed affected by the vicious blows. The two broke apart, then spun to face each other with fists at the ready.

"You're going down," Superman growled.

"Ich töte sie ((I'll kill you))!" 666 spat, lunging for him.

In a move that would have made Bruce and Diana proud, Superman sidestepped and swept his leg into the back of 666's knees, buckling them. With his opponent off balance and off-guard, the Man of Steel reared back, gathering his strength. He fist rocketed forward and smashed 666 squarely in the jaw, with just short of maximum power.

This time the man in black went flying.

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A gathered crowd watched as the Metropolis Special Crimes Unit piled an unconscious 666 and laser-meta into two of their armored carriers. Superman surveyed the scene alongside Maggie Sawyer, head of the S.C.U.

"No ID for them?" he asked.

"Not yet," she replied. "We've got everything cranking, from here to the Pentagon and higher ups at Star Labs. Nothing so far." She took a puff on her cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You don't recognize either one? Seems like you or the JLA should know more about these guys than we would."

"Same as you, so far. I'll kick some tires and let you know."

She nodded. "We'd appreciate that. I got here in time to watch the two of you duke it out, and I have to admit, I got a bit worried. After...after what happened that time."

Something in his face twitched, but the genial smile remained. He steered the conversation into another direction. "When did you start smoking again?"

She gave a short laugh. "You've been away. It was months ago, since we started having to handle metas without you. Too many things to take care of without going crazy or at least having a smoke." She stared at her still glowing cigarette, then ground it out against a lamppost. "Sometimes I wonder if we aren't relying on you just a little bit too much."

"That's what we're here for, Maggie." His voice was comforting. "You don't have to worry about that."

"I know, I know," she said sheepishly. "It's just my job to worry. God forbid, if you...decided to retire, or something, I don't know what we'd do." She left unspoken what that something might be.

Her radio crackled. "Inspector, we need you a sec," it blared. She pointed at it and gave him an apologetic nod; he smiled and gestured for her to go. As she hurried off, he prepared to do the same.

"Superman! Superman!" a young voice shouted.

He halted a few feet off the ground and turned to see a child waving at him. "Superman!" The boy's excitement redoubled when he saw the superhero looking at him. "Superman! Hi!"

He floated toward the boy. "Hello there, son. What's your name?"

"Adam! Hi Superman!"

His smile widened. "Hi, Adam. Nice to meet you. Have you been a—"

"Godamned metas!" a gruff voice broke in.

He blinked, startled. The child's eyes widened. The voice belonged to a ragged man with a garbage bag slung over his shoulder. Even without heightened senses, the sour smell of whiskey on the man's breath was obvious.

"Damned metas running around ruining our streets and our city! Get the hell out of here!" The man thrust his hand forward to point an accusing finger at Superman. "Get out!" The uncomfortable crowd began drawing away.

"Sir, please don't use that language in front of children," Superman said.

"Get out!" the man demanded. He began stomping his foot. Adam was crying.

Superman rose into the air. "It's okay, Adam," he said. "I'll see you later, all right?" The boy gave a tearful nod.

"Get out!"

He turned and flew off, but not before something hit him and bounced off his arm. He turned to see the drunken man hurling another projectile at him, and caught it before it could reach its target.

He looked at the object in his hand and sighed.

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"A soda can?" Wally West, aka the Flash, was incredulous. "He was chucking soda cans at you?"

"Yes."

"Wow..." Kyle muttered. The Green Lantern was fiddling idly with his ring. "Who would've thought that there's someone in Metropolis that would throw garbage at Superman? I didn't think—"

"It happens." The irritable voice came from the dark cowled figure seated at the opposite end of the table. "Half the people in my city don't believe I exist. Can we finish this up?"

As usual, the Batman's rejoinder ended that line of conversation. Clark snuck a quick glance at his longtime colleague and friend. Bruce's jaw, the only human part visible beneath the mask, was tighter than usual. Clark made a mental note to approach Bruce about it. Or perhaps, he reconsidered, when enhanced hearing detected the sound of teeth grinding together, to see if someone else would approach Bruce.

((J'onn?)) he inquired silently.

((Yes?)) The response was immediate.

((Something wrong with Bruce? He seems grumpier than usual.))

There was a pause. ((Personal issues, I believe,)) replied the Martian.

Clark ventured a peek at Diana. The Amazon princess was staring at a spot on the wall opposite her seat. ((Ahh.))

((Indeed.))

The entire exchange took place at the speed of thought, and barely a second later the JLA meeting continued.

"That brings me to my main concern," Clark said, "which has been corroborated by Maggie Sawyer at the Metropolis S.C.U. I took a look at their files earlier today, and the number of metahuman incidents in Metropolis has spiked dramatically over the last several months."

He touched a button and a 3D graph was projected onto the table. He pointed at the spot where the graph experienced a significant increase. "This jump coincides with our off-world mission at Janus IV." He pressed another button and a larger graph appeared, similar in shape and slope. "Here are metahuman activities in the world at large, as best as Oracle has been able to track. We see another spike in the exact same spot. I'm not thinking coincidence here."

"More metas getting it on?" Plastic Man ventured, humming a few bars from the song of the same name. "Love is in the air? And caaaaan you feeeeel—"

"Eel."

"Sorry."

He turned to the Dark Knight. "Bruce, your thoughts?"

Batman folded his hands together and spoke after a brief pause. "It could be several things. A possible scenario is that our departure precipitates an increase in metahuman criminal activity. That correlates to an increase in the superhero community's actions, in order to respond to the crimes. Both factors build on each other and we see the results."

"It doesn't explain the rash of new metas appearing every week," Clark said. He had told them about the battle in Metropolis.

There was a pause. "Agreed. I'll look into it."

Clark nodded. "If the rest of you have time to study this too, I'd like your input. Not you, Eel," he added, before Plastic Man, who had opened his mouth, could begin to speak. The malleable superhero formed an exaggerated sad face, with lips drooping to the table.

"Moving on," Clark said. The meeting continued.

----------

After the meeting, Batman strode through a Watchtower hallway, heading towards the teleport room.

"Hey Bats, do you have a—" Kyle got a closer look at the set of his jaw. "Well, uh, I can see you're busy...I had a thing—but you know what, I can go find someone else...maybe J'onn..." They faced each other, Batman staring, the Green Lantern trying to do anything but. "Anyway, yeah, I'm gonna get going, bye." He hurried off.

Before Batman could do the same, another figure stepped around the corner. He froze for a split second at the sight of her, but it was long enough.

"Hello, Bruce."

"Diana." He gave a brusque nod and slipped past her. Their shoulders bumped against each other as she refused to budge. Princesses made of clay were not easily pushed aside, so he turned to face her. "Can I help you with something?"

She didn't seem perturbed by his glare. "We need to talk."

"About?"

A quick glance verified the hallway was empty. "Us."

"I need to get back to Gotham." He stepped past her, his cape sweeping across her body.

"Sunday. Dinner. My place." The familiar words stirred something in him. He had said something like that to her, not so long ago.

The full memory of that night, including how things had eventually turned out, came crashing down on him. "We had a talk already, Diana. And we agreed on what would happen between us." He spoke with his back to her.

"And if I changed my mind?"

She couldn't see his mouth work, but the words came out a fraction late. "You're welcome to do whatever you like." He began walking away.

"So you'll be there?" she said to his retreating back. The only response was a flutter of his cape, and then he was out of sight.

She sighed, shrugged, and left the hallway.


	3. Chapter Two: Alliances

"_Good," Lady Shiva said as she rose from the floor, ignoring the trickle of blood that was winding down her chin. "Again." _

_Her body blurred into an attack routine. He met it head on and countered, fists and feet flashing out in a perfect balance of attack and defense. It ended with her on the ground again. When she stood, there was a hint of a smile on her normally impassive face._

"_Again!" _

_They fought for nearly an hour, kicks and strikes and punches that would make the finest martial artists in the world shake their collective heads in wonder. A superlative blend of speed and power and grace. _

_She hit him several times. _

_He hit her more. _

"_Enough!" she said suddenly. Her chest was heaving. He froze, mirroring her stance less than a foot away. Lines of sweat tickled his nose. _

_She pulled back and placed her right fist against an open left palm, in the traditional greeting of fighters. Eyebrow raised, he kept his guard up, even tensed his body. _

_His jaw dropped when, for the first time ever, Lady Shiva Woo-san bowed to him. It was a smooth, sensual gesture, a side he had never before seen from her. Her dark almond eyes, exuding an almost predatory gleam, were locked onto his._

_He blinked. _

_She advanced toward him. _

_Confused, he took a step back. "Lady?" he asked. _

"_I have succeeded at last, my little bat." Noting his bewildered look, she gave a wry chuckle. "So surprised. What did you think my purpose was in training you all these years?" _

"_I—you said Grandfather was paying you—"_

_She made a dismissive noise in her throat ."Money. I have enough of it to drown a city and no use for more." She turned away from him and walked lithely to the corner of the dojo where towels and other supplies were kept. He finally dropped his guard, puzzled eyes following her every move. _

_She picked up a steamed towel and wiped sweat from her face as she spoke. "You have heard of my loss to the Batgirl?" He nodded. "I was…troubled…for a period following that defeat," she said. "My life's purpose had been to seek out and conquer the greatest fighters in the world, and for the first time I had lost." Her eyes were clouded. "It is…a difficult thing, to discover that your life has lost its meaning." _

"_It must have been difficult," he blurted out._

_In the past, such an interruption would have earned a cuff on the head. Now she glared at him but almost immediately gave a short laugh. "It will be hard getting used to this," she said. _

"_Getting used to what?" _

_Shiva stared at him with an unfamiliar look in her eyes, a predator eyeing its prey. He felt dizzy. _

_When she spoke again, it was as if he hadn't interrupted. "After that defeat, I traveled to the highest peak of the Tibetan mountains and meditated for weeks without food or sleep. When I emerged from the cave, I found that the quest of combat for the sake of combat no longer held my interest. I decided that I would put my time and skills to another purpose: I sought a companion in life, a man who was worthy of me and would challenge and inspire me. But I could not find a man who was my equal. So I had to make one."_

_His eyes widened as she went on. "I have taught the greatest fighters in the world, but no pupil has ever surpassed me…until now. I never taught them everything—until now. Now, I have passed everything I know on to you. You are that man."_

_Ibn was at a loss for words. Then her words sank in and he had a sudden, dizzying shift of perception. For the first time he saw her not as Lady Shiva, the teacher, but as Shiva the woman. _

_She was still speaking. "You have bested me, and your training is at an end. You may claim your reward. But I will not force your decision; it is up to you. I will be retiring to my room. You may follow me, or not, as you will. It is your choice, Ibn al Xu'ffasch." His name rolled off her tongue. _

_His eyes bored into her, specifically the shifting of her toned body as she walked out of the dojo. _

_He followed._

_His steps grew longer, faster. He was almost drunk with the sensation of power, that he had conquered this mightiest of opponents. _

_She was already nude when he entered her quarters. Her back was to him, revealing the twisted coil of a serpent around her shoulders and down her back. Her body was perfectly sculpted, hardened from years of combat but retaining a dangerous, sensual femininity. A tigress. _

_Yes, indeed, he thought to himself moments later, as they tumbled in a furious, writhing heap onto her bed. His mouth devoured hers as she scratched and clawed passionately at his back. A tigress. _

_-_

_-_

_-_

Chapter Two

The armored police wagon rolled steadily down the highway. It was night in this part of the world and the roads were deserted, but the vehicle stayed well under the speed limit. No sense in taking chances with this cargo.

Inside the carrier, three guards glared at the prisoner they were escorting. A white-skinned maniac, bundled in an orange jumpsuit and chained from head to toe, gazed back at them.

"Boys," the prisoner drawled, the dischordant tone of voice making one of them wince, "I know I'm good-looking, but could you go easy on the staring? You're making me blush."

"Shut up," growled one of the guards.

The Joker's smile disappeared. "Now you're just being mean." His eyes narrowed a fraction. "I absolutely _despise_ mean people."

"Shut up!" the guard's voice was louder. His hand was on the electric baton belted to his side.

The Joker ignored him and went on. "I mean, it's one thing to be _crazy_—that's actually a good thing, see—and I don't mind that. In fact, I try to help everyone become like me. Sharing the wealth, so to speak."

"Shut. your. mouth." This through gritted teeth.

"But you, well, all I can say is that your mother must have brought you up the wrong way, because you're just being plain _rude_."

The guard stood, electric baton raised and crackling.

"I _said_, shut the _fu_—"

There was a deafening crash, and the world turned upside down.

----------

A dozen black clad figures swarmed over the overturned carrier. Several more were pouring out of a large truck fitted with a battering ram, the reason for the GCPD vehicle's upheaval.

With a silent and practiced efficiency, the figures dragged five men from the battered carrier: a dead driver, three unconscious guards, and a dazed Joker.

A limousine pulled up behind the truck. A well dressed man stepped out of the limo and moved forward to speak with the still-chained prisoner. "Mister Joker?" he asked with a deferential nod.

"Who the hell are you?" the clown demanded.

The man spread his hands in a pacifying gesture. "My name is Samuel. I am a messenger, nothing more."

"Messenger? From who? What's the message?"

"Ibn al Xu'ffasch wishes to request an audience with you."

A pale green brow furrowed. "Albino who?"

"Ibn al Xu'ffasch. You may not be familiar with his name, but I am to say this to pique your interest: he is the son of the Bat, and wishes to meet with you regarding his father.'"

The Joker's eyes widened. "Batsy had a kid? A real kid? I always thought he was gay…I mean with the Robins and everything, who knew what he was doing with them?"

"So you will accept the invitation?" the man asked.

The Joker tried to scratch his chin, but was stopped by the cuffs. "What happens if I don't?" he asked suspiciously.

Samuel shrugged. "Nothing. We will go to our next contact and make the same request of him. Unfortunately we are pressed for time, which means we will be unable to offer you our assistance." He glanced at the chains, then at the guards, who were beginning to groan and rise. "Their orders are to check in with the Gotham City Police Department at fifteen minute intervals. There are seven minutes remaining before the next check-in. So I must ask again, will you come with me? I assure you that you will derive great satisfaction from this meeting."

There was a long pause, then the Joker shrugged. "Sure. Why the hell not?"

The man smiled. "Excellent. Our plane is waiting. If you will join me in the limousine, we will further discuss the situation."

"What about them?" the Joker jerked his thumb at the semi-conscious guards sprawled on the ground.

Samuel nodded. "Of course. We would not deny you the chance to avenge such an insult." He snapped his fingers, and one of the black-clad figures strode forward to strip away the Joker's chains. The man then retrieved an electric baton from one of the guards and presented it hilt-first to the former prisoner.

Long, slender fingers closed around the baton handle and a smile broke out on his pale face. He flicked the switch, and the humming sound filled him with happiness. Just like one of his joy buzzers.

He advanced on the whimpering guards.

----------

Ibn stared at the file, absorbing every nuance of the Martian Manhunter, aka J'onn J'onzz. An alien philosopher and lover of peace who possessed some of the greatest tools with which to make war.

The Martian race's main weakness had been fire, a result of eons-past Oan tinkering with their genetic makeup. The Batman had taken advantage of that weakness by designing nanites that burst into flame upon contact with air, thereby crippling the alien. But that mental block had been banished recently, resulting in a massive battle between the League and the rogue Martian that crisscrossed the continent, a trial by fire which left the city of Pyongyang in nuclear ruin. Flame was no longer an option for incapacitating the most versatile member of the League.

What other method, then? By far the most fearsome of the Martian's abilities was his telepathy: the ability to read, influence, and control people's thoughts. Batman's files listed an instance where the Martian had scanned through the minds of every person in the world. What could mere humans do against such incredible power?

"Turn your opponent's strength into his weakness," Shiva had taught him. Was there some way to turn even telepathy into a weakness? The power of the mind was different from that of brute force; by its very nature it was impossible to twist or use against its wielder.

Or was it? There were ways to neutralize the Martian's telepathic abilities; Batman's files held detailed notes on the design of neural circuitry that could cloak and even shield a mind from psychic attack. Ibn knew of half a dozen other prototypes under development at LexCorp and STAR Labs, fledgling experiments that had proven successful in turning a telepath's power back against him—albeit on a tiny scale. Less than a gnat against an elephant.

Gnats could not hurt an elephant. He drummed his fingers against the table.

A million gnats, though…

He cocked his head and stared into the distance, then began to write. Hours later, the files before him were filled with scribblings and sketches. The door opened and he looked up for the first time since beginning his work.

His impassive face broke into a smile at the sight of the newcomer. "Lady," he said.

Lady Shiva strolled to his desk, then leaned down so their faces were next to each other. They shared a languid kiss.

"How is it going?" she asked after they had broken apart.

He pushed the file aside. "Slowly," he admitted. "It is difficult work, plotting the demise of aliens."

She laughed, then settled cat-like into a chair and crossed her legs. "How can I help?"

"This is a task I must handle alone," he told her. "As Grandfather instructed."

"Mmm." She flipped through his notes. "Then perhaps you can share your thoughts with me. It may help clarify the process."

He shrugged. "Unlikely, but as you wish. I am currently studying the Martian. He has no true weakness anymore, not since overcoming his vulnerability to fire. And his abilities are numerous: extreme strength, flight, shapeshifting, telepathy. A fearsome opponent."

"And what are your plans?"

He leaned back and stared at the files on the desk. "His greatest strength lies is his telepathic abilities. Right now I am studying prototypes for psychic feedback generators, something that can latch on to a psychic probe and send a retaliatory current back to its source. But the designs are cumbersome and will not work for what I have in mind."

"Which is?"

"If I can develop a situation where the Martian would feel…compelled…to reach out to every mind he could, then by setting up enough units to amplify and return a high level of neural feedback…" he trailed off, staring into the distance.

Shiva waited. When he didn't speak again, she prodded him gently. "And that brings you back to?"

He shook his head as if awakening from a trance. "A moment. I have an idea." He grabbed the file and began scribbling furiously. She leaned back and watched him.

Several minutes later he looked up, nodding. "It might work. Ironically, by adapting one of WayneTech's designs." He glanced at her. "It did help—you were right."

"As always," she replied.

The familiar curl of her lips made him smile. He settled back into his chair and gazed at her. "Even now, teaching me," he teased.

"As I said long ago, I have already taught you everything. Now I merely remind you of what you have learned."

He inclined his head in a mock bow.

"So," she said. "Go on."

He closed the file and pushed it aside. "In the end, it still comes back to Superman. As the true strength of the League, he is the target, and he is the one whose collapse will bring down the others. Like saplings toppled by a falling oak."

"And how will you topple him?"

Ibn stroked his chin thoughtfully. "His main weakness is well known; his lesser failings are not. I am working on those and they may prove to be his undoing, but we will still need Kryptonite. Unfortunately, it is the rarest material on this earth and not easily synthesized."

"Then how…?"

"We must consult the only human who time and time again has shown the cunning to battle Superman to a draw."

He tapped a button on the computer before him. The screen changed to show the profile of a bald man, still regal despite the vagaries of age.

----------

"This is an…interesting proposal, Mr. Xu'ffasch."

"Please, call me Ibn."

Lex Luthor nodded. "A moment." He tapped several buttons on his desk in rapid succession. A faint humming noise filled the room.

"Sonic generators and sound dampeners," Luthor explained, gesturing at the walls. "One can never be too careful."

Ibn gave an easy smile. "Of course." He didn't mention the devices built into his watch and ring that served the same purpose.

His tone made Luthor glare. "I had my people run background searches on you," the older man warned. "You check out, but I still don't like this. Give me half a reason and you won't leave this room alive. If your grandfather is screwing with me I'll make sure he regrets it."

Ibn's smile didn't waver. "Will you now?"

Luthor growled. Then, "Mercy!" he shouted.

A smartly dressed woman materialized at his side. Her blond hair was wrapped into a long braid and a pistol was belted at her hip.

"I say the word, boy, and Mercy splatters your brains across this carpet. It'll be a waste of a Persian rug, but worth an end to your lip."

Ibn smiled and inclined his head at the woman. "Mercy, is it?" he asked. "Mr. Luthor's… assistant. I have heard of you. The tales of your prowess are very flattering." Ignoring her sneer, his gaze shifted to Luthor. "You have an imposing woman, Mr. Luthor. I have one, too. Would you like to meet her?"

Luthor raised a trimmed eyebrow.

"Lady Shiva," Ibn called, without raising his voice.

There was a loud crack behind him and the office door flew off its hinges. Four bodies—members of Luthor's elite security team—thudded to the ground as Shiva stepped into the room. Ibn watched in amusement as both Luthor and Mercy stiffened at the appearance of the Asian woman.

Shiva sauntered toward them and stopped casually by Ibn's side. She locked gazes with Mercy for just a moment before the blonde-haired woman blanched and looked away.

"I have a woman too, Mr. Luthor," Ibn continued. His tone was even; he could have been discussing the weather. "Just so we are perfectly clear."

Luthor glared at him. But he avoided looking at Shiva, who had a devilish smirk on her lips.

Ibn smiled at the older man. "Shall we begin?"

----------

Half a continent away, Bruce Wayne swiveled in an office chair as his butler entered the room. Alfred held a bundle of clothing in his wiry arms.

"Master Bruce, you will be late for your dinner."

"I don't think I'm going to go."

"Nonsense." The butler began setting out the clothes—starched shirts, ties, slacks, and dress shoes polished to a perfect shine.

"It's not a good idea, Alfred."

"And why not?"

Bruce glared at the older man. "You know why."

The butler was silent for several moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was grave. "I know very few things for certain, Master Bruce. What I do know is that gallivanting around town wearing cape and cowl is but one aspect of life. And as you grow…wiser, you will find yourself missing out on the things which make life worthwhile."

"Wiser? You were going to say 'older.'"

"That is neither here nor there, sir. And even so, what of it? I myself manage to suffer through my dotage while retaining a good deal of my faculties. Most people find me quite sane…intelligent, even. Save perhaps for my choice in employers."

"Alfred—"

The butler was merciless. "Despite your sometime interest in Miss Kyle, I believe that deep down inside you are well aware of the mismatch between you two. I understand that a man needs an occasional distraction, especially if his life consists of crawling around rooftops and foiling burglaries. But, delightful as she is," Alfred's voice made it clear that he didn't find her delightful, "Miss Kyle is not the sort of woman with whom you can share a future. Begging her pardon."

Bruce shifted lower into his chair and glanced away, looking for all the world very much like a young boy being lectured on manners. "What's come over you, Alfred? Are you drunk?"

The English gentleman pursed his lips. "Hardly. But there are certain things a father must do for his son, and I believe that your father, rest his soul, would not disapprove." There was a pause as the sharp line of his mouth softened. He sighed. "There are nights, Master Bruce, when I feel my years catching up to me and despair that after I am gone, there will be no one to watch over you. This is one of those nights. I fear for your loneliness, and as I promised your father that I would take care of you, 'pre-date jitters' shall not stand in my way. Now," he picked up a garment, his tone indicating that the discussion was over, "blue shirt or brown?"

Bruce stared at his longtime butler, friend, and father figure. Then he sighed. "Whatever you think is best."

Alfred nodded. "Very good, sir."

----------

Ibn pointed to the screen. The two men had just watched the confrontation between Superman and 666 in Metropolis, as well as the battle's aftermath. The bum was in the picture, his soda can in mid-flight.

"You see?" Ibn asked. "All that power, the strength to move planets, yet the demands of one man can turn him aside."

Luthor stared at the tape. Then he barked a laugh. "That German fellow. One of yours?"

"Of course. Though he did not know it. Many of my grandfather's laboratory experiments have recently come to fruition."

"And you threw him out there just to bait Superman?"

Ibn shrugged. "He was the product of years of genetic manipulation and gene splicing, the culmination of our efforts. But as you can see, even that was not enough. It was yet another reminder that despite our greatest efforts, none on this earth have the raw might to match Superman. So, we will not use might."

Luthor snorted. "What are you going to do, ask him nicely to step aside?"

Ibn gestured again at the screen, where the bum was frozen in mid shout and Superman was drifting away. "As I said, our greatest efforts failed to budge Superman. Yet one man—a single, worthless man whose life is less than a rat on the streets, barely a speck of dust to you or I…that man was able to move him. This is something you must have learned about superheroes. They are incredibly strong, even godlike, yet powerless in the right situation."

Luthor leaned forward, lips pursed. "I'm listening."

"You say that Kryptonite can no longer cause him serious harm. This is unfortunate and will make my task more difficult. But the Man of Steel has a weakness greater than Kryptonite, both in size and in scope. And by exploiting that weakness we can bring about his ruin."

"The court of public opinion."

Ibn nodded.

"It won't work. It's been tried before. I've tried it. These people," Luthor's voice grew venomous, "those sheep, they love their Superman. Nothing he does can turn them against him."

Ibn leaned back in his chair and smiled.

----------

"Clark," Bruce muttered in exasperation. "Such a Boy Scout."

Diana laughed. "He gets to you sometimes, doesn't he? Despite your demeanor. The two of you are like brothers, always getting under each other's skin."

They were seated at a table inside the Themiscyran embassy, dining on sandwiches made of cold cuts and cheeses and various kinds of flatbread. "I'm sorry about the food," she had apologized earlier. "I didn't think you would come." After getting over her surprise, she had bustled about the kitchen, refusing his repeated offers to take them out to dinner.

Now he considered her words. "I guess, in a way, you could say that," he mused. "Of course, I would be the older one. The smart one."

She grinned around a mouthful of ham, turkey, and Provolone cheese. After chewing and swallowing, she took a sip of iced tea and patted her lips with a napkin.

"So deep down inside, the Batman really is a family man?"

He snorted. "Hardly." Seeing the opportunity to change the subject, "And how about you?" he ventured. "Growing up in Themyscira with one big happy family?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Happy? Themysciran politics can be every bit as venomous as those here. But," she pointed a finger at him. "you're trying to change the subject, Mister Wayne. We were talking about you, not me."

He opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. "So, about Clark," he said innocently.

The Amazon princess laughed, shaking her head and taking another sip of her iced tea. "Bruce, you're impossible."

----------

"Did you know, Superman once decided he would try to feed the world?" Ibn asked.

"I heard something about that." Luthor replied. "It was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes. He pleaded with your Congress to allow him to deliver surplus food to starving countries. They agreed and he was successful at first, but ran into a dictator who refused to allow him into the country, even fired missiles at the shipment he was carrying. The bombs could not harm him, let alone stop his mission, but they were loaded with poisons which destroyed the grain that he had brought. Superman saw this and despaired—he turned tail and ran. This is a being who could take over the planet if he chose, but some poisoned grain turns him from his course. Powerful…yet powerless."

Luthor stroked his chin. After a long silence, he spoke. "Fine. Let's assume, for the time being, that whatever you have planned might work. But you're forgetting one thing. Superman isn't alone. When you tangle with him now, you lock horns with the rest of the damned JLA. You say you've got a plan to take him down—what happens when the rest of them find out and come after you?"

"They will be under control," Ibn said coolly.

"How?" Luthor demanded. "Excuse my skepticism, but I find it hard to believe that you'll succeed where generations before you have failed."

"If we come to an agreement, Mr. Luthor, my plans will be revealed. For now, suffice it to say that Superman is my target."

Luthor muttered a curse. "I've wasted too much of my life on Superman. I know almost everything there is to know about him. But years ago I discovered that each time I went up against him and the JLA, I was outmatched not by force, but by cunning. I knew that he didn't have that kind of brains, so I spent some time studying the League. And I found out that the mind behind the outfit isn't Superman…it's the Batman. An attack on the JLA won't work if the Bat is left alone."

"The Batman will be handled accordingly."

"How?"

"As I told you earlier," Ibn said patiently, "all will be revealed in due time." He tapped a finger against his chin. "But perhaps I can say this much. To pique your interest in our partnership, I will offer you a prized bit of information. A carefully guarded secret: the identity of the Batman."

Luthor's head jerked up. Before he could speak, Ibn went on. "But first I must have your promise that you will take no action against him at this time. It would upset a delicate balance and ruin the plans I have already set into motion."

"Yeah, whatever. Who is he?"

"Your promise, Mr. Luthor. And I will hold you to it."

Luthor growled. "Fine. You have my word. But this better be good."

Ibn leaned back in his chair. "He is Bruce Wayne. And I am his son."

---------

"Talia, hmm? She's very beautiful."

Bruce stared at the wineglass he was holding. The first bottle between them was empty; a second was already halfway gone. "It was a long time ago. I was lonely. Not that it's an excuse."

Something in his voice gave her pause. She put down her wineglass—a bit unsteadily—and reached a hand out to cover his. Dressed in a plain sweater and faded jeans, her beauty was no less apparent. "Bruce…you don't need an excuse to be with somebody."

He stared at her smaller hand over his own. Then he looked up. "Your turn."

She frowned ever so slightly and pulled her hand away. "Fine. Her name was…Nera. She was red haired, had a very fiery temper. Kind of like Artemis, now that I think about it."

"That makes six for you, three for me." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Amazons are more open about their sexuality, Bruce. For us it wasn't some grand production. It was just something we did." She paused and titled her head. "Does that make me promiscuous? A slut?"

He choked on his wine. "A what? No! No…no. Not at all." She hid a smile as he coughed and hastily gulped down the rest of the glass, then poured more wine for both of them.

They drank in silence. Several minutes had passed before she spoke again. "Do you ever think about…that night?"

He didn't need to ask which night she was referring to. He looked at his glass and said nothing.

"Bruce." His eyes returned to see her plaintive gaze. "Do you…do you think we made the right choice?"

He set his wineglass down so the trembling wouldn't betray him. "We made the decision. For us, for the League. It was the right thing to do."

"At the time."

"Nothing's changed, Diana."

Her wineglass joined his on the table. "Perhaps. But perhaps not. Perhaps everything's changed."

"Like what?" he challenged.

There was another long silence, and when she spoke again he had to struggle to hear her words. "Maybe I realized that you didn't actually respond when I asked if you were willing to try."

He didn't say anything, just stared at her.

"Maybe I came to see that my decision might have been a mistake. Maybe…" her cheeks were very red, not all from the wine, "maybe I discovered that I couldn't stop thinking about you." She didn't look at him; her voice was barely a whisper. "Maybe, if you were willing, we could give it another chance."

A motion startled her and made her look up from the floor. He was by her side. Her arms, of their own volition, circled around his neck.

They kissed.

---------

"Bruce Wayne! Bruce godamned Wayne!" Luthor was pacing in his office. He came to an abrupt halt, eyes narrowed. "During No Man's Land, when he stopped my takeover…and then Batman appeared…" He smashed a fist into his palm. "I should have realized it! Bruce Wayne!"

Ibn watched the older man in amusement. Luthor spun on him.

"We'll start tomorrow. LexCorp will start making bids for all of Wayne's subsidiaries. We'll send men to Gotham and begin buying up every damned piece of property in the city. After that, a few phone calls and I'll have half the inmates in Blackgate released. We'll see how Batman handles—"

"Mr. Luthor," Ibn broke in. "Your promise."

Luthor stared at him, his face reddening. Ibn's gaze was nonchalant.

Suddenly, Luthor strode to his desk and sat down opposite the younger man. He brought his hands together. "Very well, boy. It's your show, for now." His voice was surprisingly calm. "But Batman—Wayne—has one of the finest minds on the planet. He's strong. He has vast resources and powerful allies at his beck and call. How exactly do you propose to defeat him?

Ibn leaned forward intently. "With a finer mind, and a stronger body. With resources just as vast, and allies every bit as powerful."

Luthor stared at him, then understanding crossed his harsh features. He barked a laugh. "Ahh. Brilliant. The best way to defeat a Bat…"

Ibn smiled and finished the sentence for him. "…is with another."

----------

Diana burst into a sudden fit of giggles, giving Bruce pause.

"What?" he demanded.

From her prone position on the couch, she looked up at him. "I was just imagining," she broke off into another mirthful fit before recovering enough to speak, "what Kal and the others would say about this."

His lip twitched, but "Screw Kal," he growled.

Her eyes widened teasingly. "Really? I didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Batman. Should I ask him?"

He gave a mock snarl, which made her dissolve into laughter. "I'll get you for that, Princess," he said, and pounced on her. Her laughter was cut off by his mouth over hers. They kissed hungrily as he fumbled at her clothing.

Sometime later they fell off the sofa. Neither of them cared.


End file.
